The world tore itself apart.
Light shattered, sound collapsed, and for a single heartbeat, Eren Vale felt as though his body had been pulled through a needle.
Then—
He hit the ground hard.
Pain exploded through his shoulder as he rolled instinctively, scraping across rough stone. The air was thick, heavy, pressing down on his lungs like invisible hands.
Eren coughed and forced himself upright.
The sky above was wrong.
Not dark. Not bright.
It was a vast, muted gray, layered with drifting currents of distorted light. Mountains rose in the distance like jagged teeth, and the land beneath his feet pulsed faintly, as if alive.
This was the First Sanctuary.
Before Eren could fully steady himself, a scream tore through the air.
He turned sharply.
One of the entrants—the man closest to him during transit—had collapsed to his knees. Blood streamed from his nose and ears, his body convulsing violently.
"No—no—get it off me—!"
The pressure intensified.
The man's scream cut short as his chest caved inward with a wet crack.
He fell face-first into the stone.
Dead.
Eren's pupils constricted.
So fast.
No warning. No mercy.
Around him, chaos erupted.
Two people bolted in opposite directions, panic overtaking reason. Another tried to crawl backward, dragging himself away from the gate's fading light.
The Sanctuary did not care.
A low, guttural sound rolled across the plain.
Eren felt it in his bones before he saw it.
Something moved.
The stone ahead bulged outward, cracking as a massive shape forced its way up from beneath the surface. Jagged limbs unfolded, coated in gray-black chitin streaked with dried blood.
A Sanctuary Beast.
It had too many legs and no visible eyes—only a gaping vertical maw lined with grinding plates.
One of the fleeing entrants didn't even scream.
The creature lunged, its body blurring unnaturally fast. A snap of sound echoed, and the man was simply… gone. Torn apart so completely that nothing recognizable remained.
Eren's heartbeat thundered.
Run.
Every instinct screamed it.
But his feet stayed planted.
CORE-0 ACTIVE
Threat detected: Sanctuary-class lifeform
Recommended response: Immediate evasion
Secondary option: Precision strike — low probability
Eren inhaled deeply.
The pressure of the Sanctuary crushed down on his muscles, his bones, his organs—testing, judging.
He adjusted his stance.
Not the way he fought on the streets.
Not the way untrained people swung in panic.
Slow. Grounded.
The beast turned.
It sensed him.
The creature surged forward, stone shattering beneath its weight.
Eren moved.
Not fast.
Not flashy.
Just enough.
The beast's limb tore past his shoulder, missing by centimeters. The shockwave alone slammed Eren backward, skidding him across the ground.
Pain flared—but he rolled, regained balance, and didn't stop moving.
Muscle synchronization: 78%
Bone stress: Acceptable
Energy distribution optimized
Eren grabbed a shard of broken stone from the ground as he passed.
The beast struck again.
This time, Eren stepped inside its reach.
He drove the shard upward with everything he had—aimed not at the armored shell, but at the thin seam beneath its jaw.
The shard shattered.
The impact jarred his arm numb.
But the beast recoiled, letting out a shrill, grinding screech.
Blood—dark and viscous—spilled onto the ground.
It wasn't fatal.
But it was enough.
The beast hesitated.
That hesitation saved his life.
Eren didn't press his luck.
He turned and ran.
Not blindly—toward higher ground, toward broken terrain where the creature's bulk slowed it. Each step burned. Each breath felt heavier than the last.
Behind him, the Sanctuary roared with life and death.
Screams. Crashes. Silence.
Minutes—or hours—later, Eren collapsed behind a fractured rock ridge.
His vision blurred. His hands shook.
He was alive.
Barely.
Survival confirmed
Gene activity detected
Evolutionary response initiated
Eren stared at his bloodied palms.
A quiet, incredulous laugh escaped his throat.
"So this is it," he whispered.
No applause.
No witnesses.
Just blood, fear, and instinct.
Somewhere in the First Sanctuary, predators moved.
And Eren Vale had taken his first step—not as prey that fled blindly—
but as something that learned how to endure.